by Linda Turner
For now, though, she needed tender loving care and he needed to be the one to give it to her. She might hate him for it later and rail at him for taking advantage of the situation, but he’d just have to chance it. He had to get back to her apartment to learn what the evidence team had found, but he couldn’t leave her. Not yet. Not when she seemed so lost and fragile in his arms.
Stepping into his apartment, he carried her into the bathroom and carefully eased her onto a stool next to the old-fashioned claw-foot tub. Grabbing towels and a washcloth from the linen cabinet, he frowned when he saw how she was trembling. “I know you’re cold, honey, and you’d sleep much better if you could have a hot bath, but that’s not going to be possible. Not with those bandages on your hands and feet. So I’m going to sponge you down, if that’s okay with you. And find you something to sleep in besides that smoky nightgown. okay, Jen? Are you okay with that?”
She didn’t so much as blink, but he knew she’d heard him. Something flickered in the depths of her eyes, and her poor bandaged fingers instinctively tightened on the blanket she clung to like a lifeline. Swallowing a curse, he hesitated, wondering what the hell he was going to do. She was visibly shaking now, her teeth chattering. She had to be miserable in that wet gown. But she’d already been through hell once tonight; he’d be damned if he’d drag her through it again by stripping her of her clothes against her will.
Hunkering down in front of her, emotions he couldn’t put a name to tightening his chest, he reached out to trail a finger over her sooty cheek. Just the thought of someone trying to hurt her, to burn her, enraged him. His voice, however, was gentle when he said, “Would you like me to go downstairs and get my landlady to help you, instead? Considering the circumstances, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”
For a second he thought she was going to agree, but then her fingers loosened slightly on the blanket and she shook her head. “No. It’s too late. I wouldn’t want to wake her.”
“Honey, she saw you on TV and thinks you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread,” he said ruefully. “Trust me, she wouldn’t mind.”
He spoke nothing less than the truth. Ever since Alice saw the interview with Jonathan Lake and learned Jennifer was not only psychic, but working with him, she’d been dying to meet her. If she had even a clue that she was here in his apartment and in trouble, she’d be pounding on the door.
He knew Alice—she truly wouldn’t have minded—but he should have known Jennifer would never dream of getting anyone, least of all an old lady she didn’t even know, out of bed just to help her. She was the caretaker type, not used to letting others help her.
“I trust you,” she said softly, and let the blanket fall away from her as she tiredly closed her eyes.
Her words went through him like a streak of lightning, burning him from the inside out, and for the first time he doubted the wisdom of what he was about to do. With a will of their own, his eyes went over her hungrily, lingering on the shadow of her nipples and the tempting curves revealed by her damp clinging gown. She was pale and dirty and exhausted. And he wanted her. More than his next breath. That hadn’t stopped just because he’d finally come to his senses and accepted the fact that she was all wrong for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d crawled into bed without aching for her, and just the thought of touching her made him hard. But she trusted him, and he’d swallow ground glass before he’d give her reason not to.
Pushing to his feet, he wet a washcloth with warm water. If his fingers weren’t quite steady when he lifted her face to him, she didn’t seem to notice. At the first soothing stroke of the cloth over her brow and cheek, she murmured something unintelligible and went boneless. Before he could do anything but drag in a sharp breath, she was slumped against him, the side of her face resting against his belly.
Lust frying his brain, he never knew how he got through the next few minutes. He didn’t strip her completely—he couldn’t without going quietly out of his mind. Instead, he kept her covered as much as he could, pushing the sleeves of her gown out of the way when he wiped down her arms, then the hem high up on her thighs when he turned his attention to her legs. And when he found her a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt to replace her gown, he did have the good sense to turn out the light. But it didn’t help. Standing in the darkness right next to her as she clumsily struggled with the garments with her bandaged hands, every whispered movement sparked his imagination. By the time she was dressed again, he felt like howling at the moon. And he was sweating, for God’s sake! Mumbling curses, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to bed in the dark.
“I’m going to sleep on the couch,” he said firmly, and wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince—her or himself. He was worried that she might be worried about it, but evidently the thought hadn’t crossed her mind. Already half-asleep, she turned into his pillow and snuggled under the covers the second he laid her down. It was all he could do not to crawl in there with her.
Grinding his teeth, he swallowed a groan and reminded himself that the evidence team would be winding things up at her apartment, if they hadn’t already. He needed to get over there, but he didn’t like to think of her waking up and finding herself alone in a strange bed in an even stranger apartment.
“Jennifer?”
He nudged her shoulder, but she was already dead to the world and didn’t move so much as a muscle. After all she’d been through, he wasn’t surprised she’d finally crashed. Sleep was the best thing for her. That didn’t, however, make leaving her any easier. His hand lingered, lightly caressing the curve of her shoulder until he suddenly realized what he was doing. Swallowing an oath, he jerked back and got the hell out of there while he still could.
She awoke slowly, the unfamiliar quiet nagging at her subconscious until she groaned and was forced to face the coming day. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes. Luxuriating in the warmth that enveloped her, she buried her face in the pillow she clutched to her breast and sighed sleepily. Just a few more minutes, she told herself, then she’d get up. She had to get the coffee on and set the first batch of dough to rising. Maybe she’d make some beignets this morning...
Then she remembered.
The fire. The scorching heat and licking flames. The horror that cut her off at the knees as she watched everything she held dear ignite and burn.
No! she wanted to scream. It was all just a bad dream, a nightmare that couldn’t possibly be real. All she had to do was wake up and she’d be back in her own bed, wrapped in the quilt she and her grandmother had made when she was thirteen. But even as she tried, she knew her imagination wasn’t that good. Her apartment was on the street, the pulse of the city right outside her windows. Sam’s was backed up to the river, away from traffic, and quiet except for the occasional laugh of tourists on the River Walk or the wail of a siren that was so penetrating it reached the back of the house. She was alone in his bed, wearing his clothes, because everything she owned in the world was now nothing but ashes.
The blessed numbness that had protected her last night cracked, and suddenly she was stripped bare of defenses. She felt the bandages wrapped around her hands and feet, the dull throbbing of her burns, the aching loss of things that could never be replaced. Hurt gripped her heart, clawing at her, tearing her apart, until she thought she would die from the pain. Curling into a ball, she buried her face in Sam’s pillow and sobbed.
She cried until there were no tears left, until her eyes burned and her head pounded and shudders racked her. And it changed nothing. When she finally dragged herself into the bathroom and faced herself in the mirror, she looked into her red-rimmed puffy eyes and faced the harsh reality of her situation. She was homeless and didn’t even own the clothes on her back. She would have been out on the street last night if Sam hadn’t come to her rescue.
Shadowy images from the night flickered before her eyes, haunting her, confusing her. It was just days ago that he’d said he didn’t plan to see her again. But he’d l
iterally come running when she was in trouble. And not only had he helped her, he’d taken care of her when she hadn’t been in any condition to take care of herself. Her memories of what happened after he brought her to his apartment were vague, but she could hear his husky voice in her ear, murmuring to her, assuring her everything was going to be all right. And his hands. She could still feel his hands on her, the warm wetness of the washcloth as he gently drew it over her arms and legs and face. She’d leaned against him and wanted it to go on forever.
But he’d carried her to his bed and made it clear he had no intention of sleeping with her. Last night, somewhere in her numb mind, she’d been grateful he wasn’t the type of man to take advantage of a woman who’d practically draped herself all over him. But now, in the light of day, she had to face facts. He hadn’t slept with her because he didn’t want her.
The truth hurt, but she faced it squarely. She had to leave. Today. He’d never know how much she appreciated his hospitality, but she couldn’t hang around any longer without looking like she wanted more from him than emergency shelter. That would only embarrass them both. She’d get dressed, write him a note...
She turned to hurry back into the bedroom, only to spy her nightgown hanging on a hook nailed to the back of the bathroom door. She stopped short, the enormity of her situation hitting her right in the face. God, what was she thinking? she wondered hysterically. She couldn’t leave. Not unless she wanted to parade down the River Walk in Sam’s T-shirt and sweatpants. And even if she dared that, where would she go? The apartment? It was a charred ruin; she didn’t even want to think about how long it would be before it would be habitable. A hotel? And pay for it how? With her good looks? Her credit cards and driver’s license were in her purse, and that, too, had been destroyed by the fire.
Stunned, she stumbled into the living room where she sank onto the couch and stared blindly into space. What was she going to do now?
Ten minutes later she was still sitting there, racking her brain for answers, when the doorbell rang. Startled, she jumped, wondering how she could answer the door dressed the way she was, when a woman called out, “Jennifer? Are you all right, dear? Sam had to run an errand and asked me to look in on you. I’m his landlady, Alice Truelove. I’ve got coffee and doughnuts, but I can come back later if you’d rather.”
Glancing down at herself, Jennifer groaned. She was hardly in any condition to deal with strangers, but the - landlady sounded so friendly and concerned she didn’t have the heart to send her away. Hurrying to the door, she pulled it open to find a small elderly woman standing in the hall. Dressed in a colorful running suit, her white hair curling about her head, two bags of doughnuts in her hand, she had a smile as big as Texas.
Her own smile wobbly, Jennifer automatically lifted a hand to her hair, which she knew still bore the unmistakable odor of smoke. “I’m sorry. I know I must look a fright....”
Her faded blue eyes alight with sympathy, Alice clicked her tongue and scolded good-naturedly, “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. Considering what you went through last night, you look darn good. From what I heard, you’re lucky you’re not toast.”
Put that way, Jennifer couldn’t help but laugh. Liking the woman immediately, she pulled the door open wider and stepped back. “I suppose you’re right. Please, come in.”
The landlady headed straight for Sam’s galley-style kitchen and began to rummage in the cabinets for plates and coffee cups, chattering all the while. “I know you must think you’ve lost everything this morning, but things really aren’t as bad as they seem. I know—I’ve been there.”
Surprised, Jennifer hesitated in the kitchen doorway. “You were in a fire?”
Alice nodded. “When I was just about your age, as a matter of fact. My husband and I were newly married and living in a ratty apartment, which was the only thing we could afford. One day when we were both at work, it burned to the ground. We lost everything we owned and didn’t have two nickels to rub together.”
Instantly sympathetic, Jennifer moved to the small round kitchen table and sat in a chair. “What did you do?”
“There was nothing we could do but start over and thank God that neither one of us was hurt.” Pulling plastic-foam cups of coffee from one of the bags she’d set on the table, Alice poured the steaming contents into thick mugs and pushed one across the table to Jennifer. Then with a plate of assorted doughnuts on the table between them, she took the chair opposite Jennifer. “Things can get broken or stolen or even burned,” she said with all the wisdom of her seventy or so years, “but nobody can take your memories. They’re always there, right there in your heart.”
“But I have nowhere to live. And the café... God, I haven’t even thought about that! How am I going to earn a living?”
“The same way you did before—with your café. The building didn’t burn to the ground. Sam said the fire inspector said most of the damage was contained to the living room of your apartment, thanks to you.” Suddenly realizing what Jennifer had said, she frowned. “What’s this nonsense about having nowhere to live? You’ll stay right here.”
Startled, Jennifer nearly choked on a jelly doughnut. “What do you mean, here? I couldn’t impose on Sam—”
Her blue eyes twinkling, Alice laughed gaily. “There are other ways of imposing on a man without living with him, but that wasn’t what I meant. You can stay with me, of course. I have plenty of room and you’d be close to the café, which will be convenient once you start making repairs.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t!”
“I don’t see why not,” Alice replied. “I realize we don’t know each other, but you’re a friend of Sam’s, and that’s all the reference I need. And you wouldn’t be imposing on me. You’d be helping me as much as I’d be helping you.”
Jennifer didn’t see how she could possibly help anyone when she didn’t even own the clothes on her back. “How?”
Eyes sparkling, Alice could barely contain her excitement. “I’ve always said that if these old walls could talk, I could write the next New York Times bestseller. Can you imagine the stories they’d be able to tell? And, well, I was hoping, since you’re a psychic and everything, that you could...you know...”
“...see what I can pick up on the people who once lived here?” Jennifer finished for her, amused. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“Oh, would you, dear? When I saw you on TV, I could tell you were extremely sensitive and just the person I needed to talk to. I know more about this old place than just about anyone, but stories get lost down through the years, and there’s no way a person can know everything.”
“Especially when a house is as old as this one is.” Jennifer agreed, grinning. “I wasn’t in much shape to appreciate it last night, but it’s just full of spirits, you know.”
“You picked that up, too? Oh, how wonderful! I thought it was just me.” Pleased with the turn of events, she said eagerly, “So you’ll stay? Please say yes. I’d love to have you.”
Touched, Jennifer knew it was the logical solution to her problem, and she didn’t doubt for a minute that she and Alice would get along just fine. But Sam would be right upstairs; he would have to pass Alice’s apartment every time he came in or out the front or back door. She wouldn’t be able to walk in the garden or step into the entrance hall without possibly running into him.
Her heart jolting painfully at the thought, she regretfully shook her head. “I can’t, Alice. I’m sorry. It’s really sweet of you to offer, and if circumstances were different, I would take you up on it in a heartbeat. But I don’t think it would be a good idea.”
“Because of Sam,” Alice guessed shrewdly.
Jennifer nodded miserably. “He brought me here last night because I had nowhere else to go, and I appreciate it. But it would be best for both of us if I found somewhere else to stay besides the Lone Star Social Club. That doesn’t mean, however, I can’t go through the house with you. Why don’t I come back on Sunday afternoon and we’l
l do it then?”
Thrilled, Alice jumped at the offer. “I’ll make lunch. But I still want you to think about my offer. If you change your mind, I’ve got plenty of room.” Deliberately changing the subject, she reached for another doughnut. “Now that we’ve got that cleared up, let’s talk about Jonathan Lake. Is he really as arrogant as he appears on TV?”
Alice took her mind off the fire and the future and made her laugh, but she couldn’t keep her company all morning. Once she left, silence pressed in on Jennifer, and too late she remembered Molly. She’d probably shown up for work that morning without knowing a thing about the fire! Quickly hunting through the apartment, she found the phone next to Sam’s bed and called her at home.
“Thank God you’re okay!” the older woman cried the second she recognized her voice. “When I got to work this morning, I almost had a heart attack! I probably would have if Detective Kelly hadn’t been there. He told me you were at his place.”
“Sam was at the cafe at six this morning?”
“He sure was. He didn’t know my number and knew I’d be worried about you when I heard about the fire. You know, Jen, I think I misjudged that man. The more I get to know him, the more I like him. Is he taking good care of you?”
It was a simple question with an equally simple answer, but as she remembered those moments in the bathroom, when he’d so tenderly seen to her needs, she could feel his hands on her, the gentle rub of the washcloth against her skin, the husky tone of his voice as he murmured to her. There were, she realized as an ache lodged in her heart, different ways for a man to take care of a woman. If Molly was talking about taking care of all her bums and bruises, that was one thing. Her growing physical need for him was something else entirely.